How to Love a Monster

by Lyssa Dering

  Mercer stands and salutes. “See ya, boss.”

  I push open the bedroom door slowly, in case Seraphim is asleep. But he’s wide awake. Sprawled across the bed at an angle, he’s resting his jaw in his palm, staring down at a paperback book. As I step in, he looks up at me, and my stomach does a flip. Those gorgeous eyes will kill me; if he looked at me long enough, I think they really would.

  “Home so soon?” Seraphim asks, with not a hint of warmth.

  I try not to let my bad mood get worse just because he’s being catty. “Yes, I’ve come home to you, my sweet.” At least he’s got some pep in him; he doesn’t seem as dead in the eyes.

  Seraphim sits up, crossing his legs and closing his book. A glance at the cover reveals the title “Gay Tentacle Monsters from Space” in a garish yellow on a blue and green background. Hideous!

  “You know,” Seraphim says, “you’ve really pushed the limits of that ‘you’re a guest, not a prisoner’ stuff today. Your goon wouldn’t even let me go to the bathroom without telling him.”

  I told Mercer to make sure Seraphim didn’t leave the house, not to follow him from room to room. But Mercer always performs at one hundred percent, no matter what one might assume from his laid-back demeanor.

  “Mercer is very loyal. And you are safe; that’s all that matters.”

  Seraphim scoffs. “Whatever.”

  That dismissive little word heats my blood a little more each time Seraphim says it. Why does he continue to act as if my concern for him is false?

  “You want to leave?” I stalk closer to the bed, gesturing to the door. “Go. Be free, butterfly. Go wander around the city, which is completely foreign to you. Find your own food, your own place to stay. A job. Clothes!”

  Seraphim glowers like he’s trying to make me catch fire.

  “Or…” Struck with a surge of lust at his intensity, I lean down and hold Seraphim’s chin. This time, he doesn’t pull away from me. “…you can stay here, where you’re valued and secure, and cared for by the most powerful being in Wish City.”

  Seraphim’s nostrils flare. “Valued for what?” His voice is soft, but his consonants are sharp.

  Your brain. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I’m not stupid. I stroke his cheek. “Your soul.” Universe bless my subconscious for coming up with such a pretty lie under pressure. “The Universe made you, not Wish. Therefore you must be protected.” I let my hand trail down to his neck, where I brush the faint finger-shaped bruises there. Need coils inside me like a knotted rope pulled taut. “Let me protect you, precious.”

  Seraphim’s eyes go heavy-lidded. His shoulders slump, and his lips part. He reaches out and scratches blunt nails lightly down the front of my black t-shirt, which peeks out from between the flaps of my leather trench coat.

  “I just want to go outside. I hate being locked up.” He frowns. “I was trapped for a really long time before I died, you know.”

  My chest pinches in sympathy for him. I do know. There was no getting away for specials once the government took them, and Seraphim was captured at least a year before Wish was. Prey should not be allowed to roam, but perhaps if I went out with him… “Later this evening, we could…go for a walk?”

  Seraphim perks up, though he still looks half-drugged. Is it my attention that drugs him?

  “Really?” he asks.

  “Yes. I don’t want you to be unhappy.” I just don’t want you to get away. Or end up in another Love house, giving bits of his soul to men who aren’t me. I fear losing Seraphim’s attention might feel like the moments when Wish was still small enough to go into his parents’ room to sleep. If I scared him too much, he’d leave me alone for the night, wide awake and bored to tears in the darkness.

  Seraphim grips my wrist loosely. “Touch me some more? I love the way you touch me.”

  The words twist me up at the same time they make me sick with desire. I slide my hand over the side of Seraphim’s neck and scratch him lightly across the nape. “I was worried you’d stopped wanting me close to you.”

  Seraphim presses a kiss to my forearm then fixes his gaze on mine. “No, baby.”

  My stomach flips hard; I’ve never been called “baby” before! Suddenly I’m uncomfortably hot under my trench coat, and I don’t know what comes next. How should I touch Seraphim? What if I don’t do what he wants? I know all the ways Wish touched people, how he made them beg his name, how he made Seraphim long for him for years after they slept together. But observing is not the same as knowing how, and I’m not charming. I’m strange. Wish made me without body hair and too pale, tall, and lanky. I’m an urchin from the depths of the dark sea, and Seraphim is a wood nymph, giggling in the trees. And he’s been with a lot of men before me. They were all human. They were all real.

  Seraphim seemed to enjoy what I did yesterday, but now I have more to lose because I know having him is everything.

  “What’s wrong?” Seraphim gets off the bed and comes to stand by me, yanking lightly on my arm to make me face him. I don’t know how he manages to look so elegant in a pair of sweatpants.

  “Should I not call you ‘baby’?” he asks.

  “Oh. No. I mean—” The last thing I want to do is make him feel self-conscious. “I liked it very much.” My voice cracks. I wish I were lying.

  “Aw.” Seraphim intertwines our fingers, swinging our arms back and forth. “Are you a romantic, baby?”

  I fight the urge to pull my hand from his grasp. “Me?” I’m fairly certain “romantic” is not wanting a house with ravens and gargoyles; it’s wanting a white picket fence, a husband, and a dog. Not that that path is even available to me. If I were going to find love—which I haven’t considered until this exact moment—it would have to be with one of my soldiers. I can’t trust anyone else with the truth about my appetite. But how many of my loyal soldiers are men who love men, and how many don’t secretly fear me for living off brains?

  There isn’t a man in any dimension who, knowing the truth about me, would choose to give me love.

  “I’m not a romantic,” I say.

  Seraphim’s pupils move back and forth slightly as he searches my eyes. “Well, there’s an easy way to know for sure.”

  “I already know for sure.”

  “Humor me.” He tugs on my hand. “Let’s lie down.”

  I stop to take off my coat and shoes first. What will Seraphim do to me? Will he stare deeply into my eyes and see how long I can take it?

  I lie down on my back on the bed—Wish’s bed. Seraphim snuggles up to my side. It’s different holding him up here. There’s too much space; smaller rooms have fewer shadows and therefore less hidden places where mysterious objects can pop up and ruin special moments.

  “Okay, close your eyes,” says Seraphim.

  Reluctantly, I do as he says, but I hold him tighter for comfort.

  “Now imagine coming home from work like you just did.” Seraphim rubs my chest through my t-shirt, and it’s oddly soothing. “But as soon as you walk in, you see some flowers on the coffee table.”

  I laugh; I can’t help it. Flowers? Who would get me flowers? Maybe Neisha. “Alright. What kind?”

  “Your favorite kind.”

  As if I’ve ever had occasion to pick a favorite flower. But I imagine a bouquet of Love blossoms. Are they too valuable to use as decor? Maybe some orchids would be better, black ones with purple centers. “Okay.”

  “So you go up to the bouquet. There’s a card attached.” On my chest, Seraphim draws an invisible rectangle. “On one side, it says, ‘To: Fiend. From: Sera.’ You turn over the card. I’ve written you a message. It says, ‘Baby, you’re one of the most interesting guys I’ve ever met, and you’re also really hot. Thanks for being my guide in this weird-ass afterlife.’ How does that make you feel?”

  I wonder if Seraphim is trying to hurt me. Because what he’s describing is something I know I’ll never experience, and I wouldn’t have wanted it or even imagined it if he hadn’t given me the image.
>
  “Fiend?” Seraphim props himself up to look at me. Our gazes meet for a second before I look away.

  “Oh,” he says, tone dripping with amusement. “You are a romantic.”

  I don’t say anything.

  “Fiend.” He tries to turn my head, but I don’t let him. Not until he kisses my jaw and then the corner of my mouth. I can’t resist pressing my lips to his, but I put my pain into the kiss. My heart hurts. Seraphim’s cruel. He’s quicksand, and he’s far too talented at making me forget that he is prey.

  Seraphim breaks the kiss and nuzzles my cheek. “Can I blow you?”

  My brain takes a moment to process the words. “Blow me…?”

  “Yes.” Seraphim unfastens my thin, black belt. “It’s what you want, right?”

  I’ve never had anyone put their mouth on me before. Just imagining it has my cock swelling. “Yes, please.”

  Seraphim crawls on top of me like a praying mantis. He undoes my jeans and pulls them down my hips; they’re tight, so there’s some jerking involved. Then he mouths at my cock through the fabric of my black boxer briefs.

  My arousal is monstrous; it will eat everything. Heat pools in my groin as my cock hardens to an incredible degree, and all I can do is watch, defenseless, as Seraphim makes out with my underwear, tonguing the shape of my dick.

  He cuts his gaze up to me, and I almost come. I breathe hard and shallow, and he says, “Shh, shh, shh,” and slips a hand underneath my t-shirt. He rubs his palm up and down my abs until I calm down a little.

  But oh, Universe, my whole body aches for more of his mouth.

  “You like when I look at you, huh?” asks Seraphim.

  I nod helplessly. “They’re so beautiful.”

  Seraphim chuckles. “My eyes?”

  “Yes.”

  Achingly slowly, he slides down my boxer briefs. My cock bounces free, the head a dark purple-red, and I hiss.

  “You’re gonna come real quick, aren’t you?” Seraphim asks.

  “Probably. S-Sorry.”

  Seraphim strokes the tip of his finger down the length of my cock. “Don’t be sorry. I like having this effect on you.” He sticks out his tongue and licks the air next to my cockhead.

  I groan.

  “Either you want me really bad,” says Seraphim, grinning, “or you’ve never had a blow job before.” He fixes me with a sultry expression.

  Humiliation shudders beneath my want. “I was locked up, too.”

  A little crease appears between Seraphim’s brows. “What?”

  I don’t want to ruin our sex, but I need him to know. I can’t have him making assumptions about me, thinking I’m some innocent rose, or that no one wants me. Even if maybe no one wants me but him.

  “I—I was confined to Wish’s bedroom.” My voice shakes. I’ve never explained this to anyone. How do I make him understand? “Then… Then he forgot about me, because he grew up, and he knew the most frightening thing in the world was the government. He stopped being afraid of me. I didn’t matter anymore. I was locked up.”

  Seraphim sits up and rubs my thighs. He watches me, face blank. “Okay. Why was Wish afraid of you?”

  My body tries to stop me from talking. Mayday! Mayday! Seraphim can’t know. Lie, say my instincts. Lie outright. But I ignore them. I don’t have to tell him every little thing.

  “I’m Wish’s bogeyman.” The words are like solid things, bouncing off invisible force fields around us until they’ll inevitably hit me in the face.

  I wait for Seraphim to scramble off me, horrified, but he just stares for several seconds. “Okay… So then Wish forgot about you.”

  “Yes.” Relief buoys me like a life jacket. I grip Seraphim’s hand. “I was half-alive, living in his head. As if I was in a coma! But I learned things. I was there with him always. It was like a very long dream.”

  Seraphim tenses; his fingers twitch beneath mine. “You were with him?”

  He’s getting it. “Yes!”

  But he pulls my hand from his grasp. He gets off me, then the bed. He paces on the carpet.

  Disappointment steals every ounce of arousal I was feeling earlier. I pull my underwear up over my softening length, then my jeans.

  Seraphim is scared of me after all. He hates me. And yet, he does not shiver or scream.

  He halts his pacing at the foot of the bed. “Did you watch him with me?”

  Seraphim can’t know about the tapes in Wish’s sex room. I keep the door locked when I am away! I won’t tell him how I watched his, again and again, making dream-like memories solid and real, aching for him.

  “It’s blurry, Seraphim. I was trying to explain—”

  Seraphim laughs—a bitter, cutting sound. I feel sick. This room is too big. There are monsters hiding in the corners. I want my small room, my little lamp, Seraphim’s sleepy after-sex smile.

  But my specimen hates me.

  “I blocked that out, you know,” he says, resuming his pacing. “Used my power to close that off. So you know more about me and Wish than I know about me and Wish. Weird, huh?”

  I don’t know how to interpret his tone, his body language. Is he angry with me?

  I clench my socked feet. “I don’t understand. Please, come back to bed.”

  “No. I’m sorry. I just… I hate thinking about Wish.” Seraphim scowls. “You always make me think about him. He’s everywhere in this crazy-ass house. When I fuck someone, it’s ’cause I…” He looks at me, face twisted up with an expression I can’t translate. “I want to get lost. Go away, disappear. Forget.”

  Something shrivels in me at the words; I never want Seraphim to disappear with me. I pull my knees to my chest. This is a bad day, a day that scratches. I wish I really had come home to a bouquet on the coffee table, but I would have ruined it somehow. I don’t know how to keep Seraphim smiling and willing to give himself up. I don’t know how his special brain works.

  I would end all of this now, but I just had a meal. I don’t need Seraphim’s brain yet. And I won’t put it on ice and deprive myself of its decadent freshness, either.

  Not bothering to keep the bitterness from my voice, I say, “Would you rather Wish be here instead of me?” I don’t know why I ask; it’s obvious what the answer is. Wish is the golden boy with a smile for everyone. The people that followed him through the underbelly of Chicago treated him like he had all the answers. He would know how to make Seraphim happy, even though I only saw him do that a few times during their time together. I wanted to be better than Wish, but I’m just as bad, likely worse.

  Seraphim hugs himself and looks at the floor. “I guess I’d like to have you both.”

  “Well, that’s not going to happen!” My voice comes out too loud, too harsh.

  Seraphim flinches, his eyes going big.

  I refuse to apologize for frightening him. If he didn’t want me angry, he should have lied!

  I get off the bed. “Come. I’ll take you to my closet. You can pick something to wear, and we’ll go out.”

  My wrath continues to burn bright even as Seraphim obediently follows me out of the bedroom. I shouldn’t have let him silence me. I am the king of Wish City, and Seraphim’s special brain does not give him a pass! When a soldier disrespects me, they suffer the consequences. Shouldn’t prey be treated with even less leniency?

  “Seraphim.” I stop short in the hallway, sending Seraphim bumping into me. I round on him and nudge him toward the wall. I set a hand at the base of his throat, but I don’t grip hard enough to hurt him. That isn’t what this is about. “I need to finish what I was trying to tell you earlier, and you need to listen.”

  Seraphim licks his lips. “O-Okay.”

  I take a deep breath and huff it out my nose. Having Seraphim watching me like this, rapt, because I told him to, is pure power. It reinforces my spine and is far more preferable to shuddering helplessly under his touch, no matter how good it felt before he decided not to blow me.

  “My body wasn’t my own until I arrived in
Wish City,” I say. “I had one, of sorts, but here, I am my own man. I’m free to pursue sex, but I haven’t been able to focus on that because I run an empire. Understand?”

  Seraphim hums, smirking, a devilish gleam in his eye. His hand snakes up my side. “So dominant… Don’t worry; I’ll teach you.”

  Having spilled more of the truth makes me feel lighter and more in control. I stroke a thumb along Seraphim’s hairline. “I didn’t mean for my explanation to upset you. My past was not my choice. I want very much for you to be happy.” I kiss him on the temple and attempt to pull away.

  Seraphim stops me, hand clenching in my shirt. “Baby.” His voice is positively wanton. This is how I like my specimen: vulnerable and sweet.

  I make my voice soft and easy in return. “What is it, my darling?”

  Seraphim curls against my chest, not looking at me. “That’s the kind of thing I like, just so you know. You being intense and demanding but then kissing me on the head. Hurting me when we fuck, but later talking about protecting me.” He nuzzles me. “I love it.”

  My every nerve becomes sensitive, searching for more sensation.

  “It gets me so hard,” Seraphim whispers.

  Maybe I’m being cruel when instead of taking him back to bed, I kiss him on the opposite temple and say, “I’ll keep that in mind. Now, let’s find you something to wear for our evening out.”

  7

  Sera

  I tell myself I’m manipulating Fiend, getting closer to him so I can butter him up. That’s what the attempted blow job was about, and telling him exactly what gets me heady, and the way I’ve started to reciprocate all his weird pet names with “baby” (and kept it up only because he likes it, obviously).

  But this is also beyond pleasant. The air outside seems just as temperature-controlled as the air inside as Fiend leads me down the front steps of his house—tall and imposing with its gray siding and lack of windows—and onto the sidewalk. Having been exhausted and out of it when I arrived, this is the first time I’m noticing that though the house has a little yard with a stone perimeter and even a mailbox out front, everything around it is city brick and steel.